


Beggars in the House of Plenty

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Demonic Possession, Dubious Consent, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-16
Updated: 2010-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:59:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is tired of the pressures of his family’s work at Petrelli International, and finds the safety and acceptance he needs with a man who has something to do with the mysterious problems plaguing the family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beggars in the House of Plenty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkfinity (heidi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heidi/gifts).



> **Content advisory** : D/S play, Consent issues relating to mistaken identity, mild violence  
>  **Author's notes** : This is the long, long, long, long overdue fic which [](http://pinkfinity.livejournal.com/profile)[**pinkfinity**](http://pinkfinity.livejournal.com/) bought for Sweet Charity last year. Thanks to [](http://pinkfinity.livejournal.com/profile)[**pinkfinity**](http://pinkfinity.livejournal.com/) for being infinitely patient, and [](http://redandglenda.livejournal.com/profile)[**redandglenda**](http://redandglenda.livejournal.com/) and [](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/profile)[**jaune_chat**](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/) for the beta help. Apologies to John Patrick Shanley for shameless misappropriation of his title.  
> 

**Title** Beggars in the House of Plenty (Part I)  
 **Fandom** : Heroes/Supernatural (AU for both)  
 **Rating:** : NC-17  
 **Pairings** : Sam/Peter, hints of Nathan/Peter  
 **Warning** : D/S play, Consent issues relating to mistaken identity, mild violence  
 **Word Count:** 13,800  
 **Author's notes** : This is the long, long, long, long overdue fic which [](http://pinkfinity.livejournal.com/profile)[**pinkfinity**](http://pinkfinity.livejournal.com/) bought for Sweet Charity last year. Thanks to [](http://pinkfinity.livejournal.com/profile)[**pinkfinity**](http://pinkfinity.livejournal.com/) for being infinitely patient, and [](http://redandglenda.livejournal.com/profile)[**redandglenda**](http://redandglenda.livejournal.com/) and [](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/profile)[**jaune_chat**](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/) for the beta help. Apologies to John Patrick Shanley for shameless misappropriation of his title.  
 **Summary** : Peter is tired of the pressures of his family’s work at Petrelli International, and looks for the safety and acceptance he needs from a man who might have something to do with the mysterious problems plaguing the family.

 

  
“Hey Elle.” Peter leaned against the reception desk and flashed her a winning smile. “Is my brother in?”

 

Elle grinned back at him. “Petey boy! What brings you to the big boys’ floor? Shouldn’t be in school?” She leaned forward conspiratorially, pushing her chest out in an unsubtle suggestion. “Or are you skipping class? I hear girls like that bad boy thing.”

 

“Elle, I _like_ nursing school. Why would I skip class?”

 

“To hang out with me?” Elle twirled her pen around a lock of her shiny blonde hair. “I could take a late lunch.”

 

“It’s four o’clock.”

 

“A coffee break, then. I know where there’s an empty supply closet.”

 

“Is he in?” Peter pointed to the office door as he moved toward it.

 

“He’s in a meeting, Peter. Peter!”

 

Ignoring her, he pushed open the door and strode into the office of Nathan Petrelli, CEO, Petrelli International. The room was enormous. The far wall consisted of floor to ceiling windows, which right now showed a spectacular view of the city bathed in the thin sunshine of a spring afternoon. Among the array of old fashioned, grandly scaled furniture (a huge mahogany desk that had belonged to Peter’s great grandfather, a handsome Empire sofa upholstered in the style of Louis XVI, a full-sized grand piano) a few touches of modern aesthetic stood out: the trim line of a state-of-the-art computer monitor, a sleek metal chair behind the desk, and an elegantly curved mirror beside the door. The old man hadn’t been in the ground a month, and already Nathan had started to make changes here in the seat of his company’s power.

 

The sound of a clearing throat drew Peter’s attention to Nathan, who sat at the head of the massive conference table at the far left side of the room. In the chair to Nathan’s right sat a white-haired man Peter had no trouble recognizing.

 

An irritated frown momentarily creased Nathan’s brow before he caught himself and returned his mask to cold neutrality. “I’m in a meeting, Peter,” he said evenly. “As I’m sure Elle told you.”

 

“Hello Mr. Linderman.” Peter gave a casual wave to the man, a member of the board of directors to whom, Nathan had told him many times, he was supposed to show the utmost respect. “What’s goin’ on?” He turned to Nathan. “I need to borrow a car.”

 

“Wait outside,” Nathan said stiffly, “And I’ll talk to you when we’re done here.”

 

“This’ll only take a second.” Peter threw himself down in one of the chairs at the conference table. He let the chair spin around twice. Nathan gritted his teeth and was ready to let loose a scathing reply when Linderman stood up.

 

“I really must be going anyway, Nathan.” He shook Nathan’s hand warmly, then turned to Peter. “Don’t give your brother too hard a time, dear boy.” He clapped Peter on the shoulder and walked out.

 

“So, about a car,” Peter said as soon as the door closed behind Linderman.

 

“No.” Nathan gathered his papers from the table and headed to the desk without a backward glance. “Since you insist on behaving like a spoiled child, I don’t see why you deserve any privileges.”

 

“Privileges,” Peter snorted. “Like getting an audience to see you once in a while. Is that so much to ask?”

 

“So you charge in here whenever you want and try to embarrass me in front of a board member. Very mature.” He yanked open a desk drawer and began pulling out papers.

 

“Car, Nathan.”

 

“I said no.”

 

Peter sidled over to the desk and leaned against it lazily. “You have seventeen cars at the house. You can spare one.”

 

“Eighteen. Still no.”

 

“I have a date.”

 

That got Nathan to stop shuffling papers for a second. “What’s her name?”

 

“ _His_ name is Sam.”

 

“No. No, Peter.” Nathan stepped out from behind the desk to take Peter by the shoulders and fix him with the same scathing look he used on misbehaving subordinates. “Not this again. Not right now. We don’t need any more bad press while the investigation’s going on.”

 

“If you don’t give me a car, we’ll take the train,” Peter said. He reveled in the way Nathan’s eyes narrowed further with each word. “We’ll make out in public. I’ll see if we can find some photographers.”

 

“Peter,” Nathan said warningly.

 

“Maybe if I get really drunk--.”

 

“Fine.” Nathan grabbed the phone on his desk. “I’ll have Elle arrange a car. And a driver.”

 

“I don’t need a babysitter, Nathan.”

 

“Car and driver. My final offer.”

 

Peter considered, and finally nodded. “Fine.”

 

Peter waited until Nathan dialed to add, “By Sam I meant Sam Winchester.”

 

He enjoyed the outraged cursing that echoed down the line and half-deafened Elle.  
\--

 

“Forget for a second that he’s a Petrelli,” Sam said.

 

“Forget--?” Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles were white. “You are trying to get me fired, aren’t you?”

 

“I haven’t done anything wrong here.”

 

“Except say yes. To a client!”

 

“Technically his brother is the client. _Your_ client, since apparently you don’t trust me enough to let me help.”

 

“Or I don’t want you to flunk out of lawyer college,” Dean snapped. “Besides, if there’s any chance I’m wrong, and the mob really did kill old man Petrelli, I don’t want—.” He stopped himself and pointed a finger accusingly at his brother. “No, Sam. You are not distracting me with that crap again. You can’t go out with this guy.”

 

Sam glared back at him.

 

“What?” Dean demanded.

 

“You know who you sound like.”

 

“Don’t say Dad.”

 

“Okay,” Sam said with a smirk. “I won’t say it.”

 

“Damn it, Sammy. I’m trying to keep you safe. Think for one damn second about what Nathan Petrelli will do when he finds outs his brother’s dating the hired help. That man’s a shark.”

 

“All the more reason not to break his brother’s heart.”

 

“Break his heart?” Dean tore his eyes off the road to search for clues in his brother’s expression. “Damn it. This isn’t a first date, is it.”

 

“Not exactly.” Sam settled back in the passenger seat and looked like he was trying not to fidget.

 

“How long?”

 

“A couple months,” Sam shrugged.

 

“Before we took this case?” Dean said incredulously. “What the hell, Sammy? You didn’t think to mention this earlier? How did you even meet?”

 

“That’s the joy of being a student, Dean. I go to these things called classes. Other students are there.”

 

“Yeah well,’ Dean grumbled. He found it difficult to stay pissed when Sam had actually managed to grasp some piece of a normal life for himself. Still, that didn’t mean he had to be happy about the situation. “With what we’re paying to send you there, you should be studying, not flirting.”

 

“What?” Sam laughed. “Okay, I _know_ that’s not what you think school is for. Now you’re just pouting.”

 

“You could’ve told me before now,” Dean said with a sideways glance. He didn’t like the idea of Sam lying to him.

 

“He didn’t want his brother to know yet.” Sam at least had the grace to look guilty.

 

Dean decided to press his advantage. “Is he even old enough to date?”

 

“He’s older than me,” Sam said indigently.

 

Dean snorted.

 

“He’s hot though, right?” Sam asked as he elbowed Dean.

 

“Maybe.” Dean shrugged, but he didn’t reach over to smack Sam, which was as close as he was willing to go towards granting his approval.

 

“You still pissed?”

 

“Yes. And if you think telling me gets you out of telling Bobby, you’re dead wrong.”

 

“Dean!”

 

“Nope.’ Traffic started to clear up ahead, and Dean gleefully stepped on the Impala’s gas. “If I have to tangle with Nathan Petrelli over this, you get to deal with one pissed off Bobby Singer.

 

“Jerk.”

 

“Bitch.”  
\--

 

Peter arrived at Sam’s building at exactly five o’clock. He wasn’t usually so punctual, but Emile, the driver Nathan had saddled him with, had expressed a strong opinion about their schedule. Sam came bounding out to the curb seconds after Peter texted him.

 

He slid into the town car, kissed Peter hello, then glanced at Emile. “What’s with the muscle?”

 

“He’s just a driver,” Peter muttered.

 

“Sure. Like Dean’s just a bodyguard.”

 

“I’m pretty sure Emile doesn’t know three ways to kill a man with a piece of pie,” Peter whispered.

 

“Not pie, maybe.” Sam and Emile gave each other a measuring glance in the rear view mirror until Peter pulled Sam away.

 

“Please tell me we’re not going to spend all night talking about our brothers.” Peter slid into Sam’s lap, straddling him. “Because I had some different ideas about what we could do.”

 

The dark glass partition between the passengers and the driver began to unobtrusively roll up.

 

“Where is _Emile_ taking us, anyway?” Sam asked quietly.

 

“It’s a surprise,” Peter said. He kissed the side of Sam’s jaw.

 

“Give me a clue.”

 

“Do you have class tomorrow?” Peter’s hands went to Sam’s waist and began to untuck his shirt.

 

“No.”

 

“Good. Then we’re all set.”

 

“Peter, is this some elaborate scheme I’m going to regret going along with?”

 

“Probably not.” Peter ground down into Sam’s lap, where his cock had started to respond. “But it’d be a good idea to take care of this before we get where we’re going. “

 

“Is it a club?”

 

“What? No.” He went to work on deftly unbuckling Sam’s belt. “Like you’d have any fun at a club.”

 

“It’s just not my scene.”

 

“Sam, I know.” He dropped a kiss on Sam’s shoulder before starting to work at the button fly of Sam’s jeans. “That’s why we’re not going to one.”

 

“Fancy dinner? Am I dressed well enough for where we’re going?”

 

“Uh huh. Too well, actually.” Peter finally succeeded in tugging open Sam’s pants. “Better.”

 

“So why did we need a driver?” Sam was looking up at the ceiling now, wearing that determined look he got when he tried to make Peter work for his attention. Peter loved a challenge.

 

“We didn’t. I just wanted to distract Nathan.” He scooted backwards, maneuvering himself to the floor between Sam’s legs. “If he thought I was being a brat about borrowing a car, he wouldn’t look for anything else.”

 

“Are we going to get in trouble?”

 

“Probably,” Peter said thoughtfully, then licked the head of Sam’s cock.

 

“Are you sure pissing off Nathan is a good idea?”

 

“Again with the brother. Be careful, or I’m going to think you have a crush.”

 

“Uh huh. As if you never check out Dean’s ass.”

 

“Hey! Who am I with right now, huh?” Peter licked a stripe up the side of Sam’s erection. “Am I doing this wrong or something?”

 

“Nuh,” Sam grunted as Peter sucked the tip into his mouth. “That’s about right.” He slid his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I kind of like you like this.”

 

Peter drew back long enough to ask, “What, on my knees?” before diving back in.

 

“No, with your mouth full. One of the few things that shuts you up,” Sam said with a tentative smirk.

 

Peter started to pull back to toss out a pithy comeback, but Sam’s hand tightened in his hair, holding him in place. Peter moaned around Sam’s cock. His hand flew to his pants, which had suddenly become painfully tight.

 

“Okay?” Sam asked.

 

Peter managed to avoid rolling his eyes, and settled for smiling and nodding as best he could with a mouth full of Sam’s dick. They’d played this way before, but no matter how many times Peter told Sam he loved the dominant side of him, Sam still took impeccable care to make certain Peter wanted it. On the whole, the caution was another thing that endeared Sam to Peter: he was strong enough to take anything he wanted from Peter, but he never asked for anything Peter wasn’t anxious to give.

 

“Good boy,” Sam said softly, as if he was afraid Emile would hear through the glass.

 

Peter responded by swallowing Sam down all the way to the root. He unzipped his own pants and shoved his hand inside to wrap around his own throbbing cock.

 

Sam held firmly to his grip on Peter’s hair and began guiding Peter up and down, fucking his face slowly but steadily. “You like that?”

 

Peter moaned helplessly and used his thumb to spread leaking pre-come down the length of his cock and Sam filled his mouth.

 

“Of course you do. God, your mouth feels so good. You were right, you _do_ look great on your knees.” Sam picked up his pace, dragging Peter’s mouth up and down his cock faster while his free hand came up to cradle the side of Peter’s face affectionately.

 

Peter moaned again at the rough treatment combined with the gentle words and touch, and the almost reverent look in Sam’s eyes. He sped up stroking his cock to synch with Sam pounding his throat. Though there wasn’t much room on the floor of the town car, Peter tried to spread his knees wider to give himself better access.

 

“Christ, Peter. You get off on being used like this? You like feeling like a little whore?” Sam’s voice sounded different: thick with lust and rough. His eyes widened and his skin flushed, as if he couldn’t believe himself capable of saying such things.

 

Peter just moaned helplessly as the deep rumble of Sam’s voice went straight to his cock. His eyes flickered closed and his hips jerked as he came into his hand. When he opened his eyes he realized that Sam had fallen still, and sat watching him with a half-smile.

 

“You do,” Sam said in wonder. “You really do get off on this. God, you’re…” He seemed to come back to his senses, then, and put on a more serious face. “Come on.” He renewed his grip on Peter’s hair and held him still while he thrust into his mouth. He only completed a few strokes before he yanked Peter down all the way, holding him pressed into the wiry hair of Sam’s groin, as Sam came down his throat with a delicious shudder.

 

When Peter finished swallowing, Sam let go and flopped back against the seat. Peter gasped for air first, then reached for a tissue from the seat-back compartment to wipe off his hand. Sam pulled him back up onto the seat, easily manhandling Peter to lean against his chest. “You okay?”

 

“You always ask that. I’m fine. More than fine. I’m actually working on a pretty nice post-orgasmic haze here.”

 

“Okay.” Sam tightened his arms around Peter’s waist. “I just don’t ever want to overstep… you know. Whatever this is.”

 

“Hey.” Peter scooted to the side so he could look at Sam. “I love everything you do to me. I can’t do this with just anyone, you know. It’s not exactly a good idea to announce to a prospective partner that you like to be held down and slapped around a bit. But I want to do this with you. You make me feel safe.” He resumed his position leaning against Sam’s chest. “Besides, you can’t say it’s not hot.”

 

“No, it’s definitely hot,” Sam said.

 

The car came to an abrupt halt, and Sam’s grip was all that kept Peter from being thrown off the seat. A sharp rap sounded on the partition, followed by Emile’s clipped tones. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Petrelli.”

 

Peter hastily fixed his clothes in a semblance of presentability and helped Sam do the same. “Come on.” Peter climbed out of the car and held out his hand. Sam took a moment to recover before unfolding himself from the seat, lacing his fingers, and emerging into the bright light of their destination.

 

They stood on the tarmac of a private airport. In front of them, a rolling staircase led up to a small plane with the Petrelli International logo stamped on the tail.

 

“Uh,” Sam said cleverly.

 

“Ever flow in a private jet before?” Peter asked.

 

“No,” Sam said slowly. Then he managed to smile at Peter. “If you’re trying to get into my pants, Mr. Petrelli—.”

 

“I don’t need a plane to do it,” Peter said. He stretched up to kiss Sam thoroughly, sharing the last salty taste of the semen he’d just swallowed. “Come on.” He grabbed Sam’s hand and tugged him toward the plane.  
\--

 

Luckily, the plane had a couch, and Peter was asleep in Sam’s arms shortly after take-off. Sam dozed awhile, sleeping off the post-sex lethargy and speculating idly about where Peter might be taking him. Sam had no idea how much time had passed when Peter started awake with a shout, his hand reached straight up and grasping at some invisible goal.

 

“What?” Sam asked, concerned.

 

Peter blinked at him, glanced around the cabin of the plane, and seemed to come back to himself. “Sam… Right.”

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah, just a bad dream. It’s nothing.” He shrugged and gave Sam a lopsided smile. “Just a weird dream.”

 

Sam hesitated. Peter looked more serious than Sam had ever seen him. “Do you want to talk about--?”

 

“No,” Peter said quickly. He rolled off the couch and stretched up. “No, it’s nothing. Anyway, I wanted to show you all the cool things about having our own jet. There’s a big screen TV, come on.”

 

Peter dragged him over to the well-stocked bar and grabbed them both a beer from the mini-fridge. “This is the way to travel, right?”

 

“I guess.” Sam cracked open his beer and took a swig as he glanced around the lavishly appointed passenger area. “There’s nothing wrong with the Impala.”

 

“Oh, the Impala.” Peter’s eyes got that dreamy, far-away look Sam had seen on him recently while he was turned on out of his mind.

 

“They all love the Impala,” Sam muttered.

 

“I mean, that’s a _car_ , you know what I mean?” Peter said. “Nathan’s got lots of cars, but the Impala.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said dismissively, but really he was pleased that Peter could appreciate the Impala’s appeal.

 

A soothing tone sounded from a speaker in the ceiling, followed by a man’s voice, “Gentlemen, we’re beginning our decent, and should be in the ground in less than ten minutes. Please prepare for landing.”

 

Peter took his beer over to a chair near the window and fastened his seatbelt. Sam took the seat next to him and leaned over to look out the window. Below them rolled endless acres of fields laid out like a patchwork quilt. “You took me to a date in… the great plains? What state is this, even?”

 

“You’ll see,” Peter said with a smirk. He refused to say anything more until they’d landed and were walking across the tarmac to a waiting car.

 

Sam squinted out over the flat, yellow sameness of acres and acres of wheat fields, yellow-gold in the waning sunset, and started to get an uncomfortable feeling. “Is this Kansas?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter beamed. “You said you and Dean hadn’t been back since we were kids, so…”

 

“Yeah,” Sam said tightly.

 

Peter didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Come on.” He accepted the keys to a town car from a suited lackey and gestured grandly for Sam to get in the car. “I want to show you something.”

 

The roads were quiet this time of the evening, and Peter seemed preoccupied with the creased directions in his hand that he refused to show Sam, so Sam had plenty of time to take in the scenery. As they drew closer to the main part of the town, Sam started to recognize landmarks that confirmed his fears.

 

“This is Lawrence, isn’t it.”

 

“Uh huh.” Peter smiled broadly. “That’s the one. And we’re almost to where we’re going.”

 

Sam sunk lower in his seat as they drove by Guenther’s auto repair place. He willed Peter not to turn right at the stop sign, but he did. One block, two, three, and then Peter pulled the car over to the curb.

 

“We’re here,” he announced, and fairly bounded out of the car.

 

Sam followed more slowly.

 

“Tada!” Peter spread his arms to indicate the house in front of which they stood.

 

Sam didn’t really remember the place, but he’d seen pictures and heard stories enough to recognize the old Winchester home. The place where his mother had died. His father had always spoken of the place with a certain bitter longing. In the dying red light of the Kansas sunset, the place seemed to be on fire.

 

“Why did you bring me here?”

 

Peter’s smile faltered. “I thought you’d like to see your old place. One of our subsidiaries was buying up the land in this neighborhood for a new development. I got them to put the project on hold.”

 

“How?”

 

“Forged Nathan’s signature,” Peter said proudly. “Nobody in this town wants a fancy new development of McHouses, anyway. If some greedy corporation wanted to tear down my childhood home--.”

 

“Mansion,” Sam corrected.

 

Peter seemed not to have heard. “I’d feel like I was losing a part of myself.”

 

“Our childhoods were pretty different, Peter.”

 

“That doesn’t matter. Let me do this for you.” Peter grabbed Sam’s hands and looked up at him pleadingly. “I’ll buy the house, and you can do whatever you want with it. Rent it out, let it stand empty, whatever. But you’d have control. No one could take it away from you.”

 

“Peter, this isn’t--.”

 

“It’s not weird,” Peter said quickly. “I’m not buying the two of us a house or planning the names of our future children. I just found out about this and wanted to help.”

 

“You wanted to help?” Sam pulled his hands out of Peter’s grip and glanced over at the house.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then let them tear it down.”

 

Sam turned away, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, and trudged off towards the center of Lawrence.  
\--

 

Peter found Sam in Tilly’s Tiddly Tap, perched on a stool at the end of the counter and frowning into his bottle. He settled on the neighboring stool and signaled the bartender for his own beer.

 

He sipped slowly and stole a glance at Sam. “We can go back whenever you want. Plane’s refueled.”

 

“Listen, Peter.” Sam heaved a sigh and continued to frown at his drink. “Private planes and shady real estate deals are not really my thing.”

 

“I overstepped my bounds. It was a stupid thing to do. I’m sorry.”

 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Peter.”

 

“I know. I want to learn, though.” Peter scooted his stool closer and rested his leg against Sam’s. “Don’t shut me out.”

 

“Careful.” Sam jerked further away, restoring a respectful distance between them. “This isn’t the city.”

 

“Right.” Peter picked at the label on his bottle. “I didn’t grow up in a mansion, not really.”

 

Sam glanced over at him, which Peter took as encouragement.

 

“We spent most of our time in the townhouse in the city, not at the estate. I used to hate having to go out there when the family was hosting a brunch or a party, or whatever. For some reason I was always afraid I’d get lost. The place always seemed haunted to me.”

 

Sam stared into his beer, but he seemed to still be listening.

 

“My favorite place, though, was this little cabin we had upstate. Pinehurst. Nathan took me up there a few times. I think Dad hoped he’d make a man out of me: teach me to shoot a gun or build a fire or something. But mostly we swam in the lake and lay in the sun and just generally played around. Nathan was never more relaxed than when it was just the two of us out there. About six years ago Dad had the cabin torn down and built a lodge. It was supposed to be a surprise for Nathan and Heidi’s honeymoon. Man, I’ve never seen Nathan so pissed.” He smiled fondly. Sam didn’t smile back, just kept looking at him, puzzled.

 

“I guess what I’m saying is I’m sorry for projecting all my pent-up childhood home anxiety on you. On us. It was stupid.”

 

“Nah. It wasn’t stupid. My childhood was just tough, okay? You couldn’t have known.”

 

“Yeah, but--.”

 

A melodic blaring from Sam’s phone cut Peter off. Several seconds passed before Peter recognized “Eye of the Tiger.”

 

Sam looked appropriately chagrined. “I should get that.” He flipped open the phone. “Dean, what?”

 

Peter frowned into his beer. He hoped Dean wasn’t calling to bawl Sam out for going along with this trip. He knew Nathan was going to find out about this little excursion sooner or later, but he’d been hoping for later.

 

“Actually, no. We’re in Lawrence. Yeah, Kansas.” He waited, listening. “No, Dean, I’m fine. It’s not as if I’m missing any classes.” He paused, listening. “I just never expected to see the old house again.” Another pause. “And you think I don’t? Hold on. Peter.” Sam motioned him over. “We gotta get back. There’s…”

 

“What?”

 

“No, Dean, we’re coming now. Hold on.” He held the phone out to Peter. “He wants to talk to you.”

 

Peter pressed Sam’s phone to his ear. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Peter…” Dean said. “There’s been an accident.”  
\--

 

Sam poured a second scotch on the rocks for Peter and a straight whisky for himself from the plane’s bar and returned to sit next to him on the sofa. Peter wrapped his hands around the tumbler as if it could warm him.

 

“I should be there,” Peter said hollowly.

 

“We’ll be there soon.”

 

Peter sipped at his drink.

 

“Besides, you couldn’t do anything if you were there.”

 

Peter glared.

 

“I meant they’ll be okay until you get there,” Sam soothed. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder and didn’t object when Peter leaned into him. “Heidi’s still in surgery, Dean’s at the hospital with your brother and Mrs. P, and Bobby’s at the house making sure nothing happens to the boys.”

 

“Why would something happen to Simon and Monty?” Peter pulled away so he could look Sam in the eye. “Sam, what?”

 

Sam kept his eyes fixed on his drink. “They don’t think it was an accident.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Apparently there was a van…” Sam said. He hesitated, but Peter’s presence wrung the truth out of him, like always. “They ran your brother’s car off the road.”

 

“They tried to kill him.”

 

Sam swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

 

Peter nodded, as if this turn of events wasn’t unexpected. He’d experienced enough of his family’s intrigues to expect that people would have reason to want Nathan dead. “Is Heidi going to be okay?”

 

“Dean said he’ll call when they know something, and…” Sam held Peter a little closer, as if bracing him for something. “He also said not to go to the hospital.”

 

“I want to see my brother.” Peter ungracefully extracted himself from Sam’s grasp and sprang to his feet.

 

“He’s fine, just a little scraped up. He was thrown from the wreck,” Sam explained. “Listen, Dean’s having a hard enough time keeping the reporters at bay as it is.”

 

“I don’t care about the media.”

 

“No, but your brother does. He doesn’t need another distraction.”

 

“So what am I supposed to do?” Peter demanded, coming to stand directly in front of Sam.

 

“Just go home.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Peter’s cell phone chirped. With a final glare at Sam, he snatched the phone from his pocket and answered it.

 

“Peter.” Angela’s voice sounded both soothing and concerned. “Where are you?”

 

“On the plane. We’ll be on the ground in an hour. Ma, what happened?”

 

“Never mind that. I just need to know you’re going to be safe. Are you with the Winchester boy?”

 

“Yes,” he said reluctantly.

 

To his surprise, Angela said, “Good. You can trust him, Peter. Don’t leave his side.”

 

“Ma--.”

 

“Someone within the company orchestrated this. We can’t trust anyone. Now that your father’s out of the picture, they’re all jockeying for position. But we can trust the Winchesters.”

 

“Okay.” Peter hadn’t thought that his mother would approve of Sam, but now she sounded completely confident in him.

 

“You say with him,” Angela said in a tone that left no room for argument. “I’ll be at the hospital.”

 

Sam’s phone broke into Eye of the Tiger. He grabbed it quickly. “What, Dean?” He walked away and lowered his voice below Peter’s hearing.

 

“Peter, are you listening?” Angela asked.

 

“Yeah.” Peter tore his eyes away from Sam.

 

“Sorry Ma.”

 

“Stay with Sam,” she went on. “Don’t come to the hospital. Don’t trust anyone, even if you think they’re a friend.”

 

“Ma, calm down. You’re upset, I get it, but it’ll be okay. You’re just worried about Nathan and Heidi--.”

 

“Promise me you’ll stay with Sam.”

 

Peter kept an eye on Sam, standing at the other end of the plane’s cabin and speaking softly into his phone. “Sure.”

 

“Say it, Peter.”

 

“I promise.”

 

“Good boy. Peter…” Angela’s voice softened. “Sometimes bad things happen. Bad things we have to go through. They may seem hard at the time, but really, they work out for the best. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, mom,” he said, worried. He’d never heard his mother talk like that.

 

“I love you.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

 

Sam snapped his phone closed and shuffled back toward Peter, head hung low and looking sheepish. “So hey, I know this might be weird, but Dean asked me to stay with you when we land. For…. protection.”

 

“I thought you quit your family’s business,” Peter grumbled.

 

“Yeah, I did. I’m out. But it’s not like the skills just disappeared when I went off the payroll. I’m still a Winchester.”

 

“And I’m still a Petrelli,” Peter said darkly.

 

Sam met his eyes unblinkingly. “We can’t choose our families.”

 

“Yeah.” Peter threw himself back onto the couch and picked up his drink. “You got that right.”  
\--

 

The plane taxi-ed up close to the private hanger. Sam watched Peter shift from foot to foot impatiently and shrug off all his attempts at conversation. As soon as the rolling stairs made contact, he dashed off the plane. Despite his longer stride, Sam had to work to keep up. Peter made a beeline for the limo parked next to the hanger. Beside the limo stood two people Sam didn't recognize: a skinny black man sporting an unpleasant sneer, and a bald guy with a round face and stupid-looking grin. They both wore suits, but they looked out of place somehow.

 

Sam caught Peter's elbow to stop him. “You know these guys?” he asked softly.

 

“No,” Peter said. “But my brother has a lot of people on his staff.”

 

Sam took a step in front of Peter and turned toward them men. “Where's Emile?” He called.

 

“That short guy?” the one with the sneer asked. “He's got the night off.”

 

Sam's fingers itched for a weapon. He hadn't worn a gun in two years, but old habits died hard. He usually had at least a knife, but not now. Not while he was with Peter, who thought of him as just another student. Sam took a solid stance and muttered to Peter, “When I say go, I want you to run for the hanger. Keep running until you find someone who works here, and then call the police. Got it?”

 

“Sam--,” Peter hissed.

 

“Don't argue.”

 

“Welcome back, Mr. Petrelli.” The bald man palled open the back door, and his creepy grin spread into a leer. “We'll take you to see your brother.”

 

“Come on, Sam.” Peter tried to push past, but Sam blocked him.

 

“Wait,” he snapped, voice low. He kept his eyes on the men by the limo. “Hey,” he called. “We're going to take a cab instead. So you guys can head out.”

 

The two men shot each other an unreadable look. The sneering man spoke up. “We're supposed to take you to be with your family. Mrs. Petrelli's orders.”

 

Behind Sam, Peter sucked in his breath sharply. Sam eyed the distance between him and the men, and again lamented the lack of a gun. All four of them stood still for a long uncomfortable moment.

 

Then the skinny man took a slow step toward Peter. “Mr. Petrelli, if this man is bothering you, we can help.” He glanced at Sam, and his eyes flashed telltale black.

 

“Peter, go!” Sam sprang into action. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter turn to run. The bald man thrust his hand forward, and Sam braced himself for the blunt force of a demon's telekinetic strength. Instead, the man threw something blue that glowed and swirled like fire, and it shot straight toward Peter.

 

“No!” Sam ran two more steps and reached the limo. He launched a kick at the open door of the limo. The edge caught the bald man in the side of the head and sent him slumping to the ground. Sam glanced quickly at Peter and was reassured by the sight of him pulling himself off the tarmac next to a black patch of soot where the weapon the man had thrown--had it been a grenade?--had missed him.

 

Sam whirled to face the other man, who still wore a self-assured smirk. “Sammy Winchester,” the possessed man chuckled. “An unexpected pleasure.”

 

Sam took a surreptitious scan of the area, looking for anything he could use against this demon: salt, iron, anything. He saw nothing helpful. Still, any time he spent distracting this demon was time Peter could use to get away. Sam stood firm and snarled, “I'm not afraid of you.”

 

“Maybe not.” The demon nodded his head to the side, and Sam risked a glance. His heart sank when he saw that Peter, instead of running away like a sensible person, stood a short distance away, watching them.

 

The man changed. Sam pivoted to the side, but the guy turned and plowed a first into Sam's belly with inhuman strength. With all the wind knocked out of him, Sam stumbled backwards. He barely got his arm up in time to block a follow-up kick, and off-balance as he was, he left himself open to a savage blow to the stomach. Sam countered with a jab of his own, but the demon laughed and hooked a foot behind Sam's ankle to send him tumbling to the hard asphalt.

 

The demon jumped on top of him and let loose a flurry of punches. Trapped between his opponent and the hard ground, Sam could only bring his arms up to try to shield himself from the onslaught. Under one blow, Sam felt something crack and give in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw a flash of blue light, the same as when the bald man had activated that weapon. Sam closed his eyes, certain he was about to die. Instead, he heard a ground-shattering boom. Screaming echoed over the tarmac, and Sam's attacker stopped his assault.

 

Sam pried his eyes open to take in the sight of the smoking shell of the limo. The bald man screamed mindlessly and batting at gasoline-fueled flame climbing over his clothes. The demon was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Sam!” Peter crouched beside him, wild-eyed with worry. “Sam!”

 

“Hey,” Sam tried to say, but when he moved, a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest robbed him of his breath.

 

“Lie still. You've probably got a broken rib.”

 

Sam thought it didn't take a nursing student to figure that out, but he couldn't say so.

 

Peter laid his hands lightly on Sam's chest. “Don't talk. Try to take shallow breaths. You'll be okay, Sam. You'll be fine. Just hang on.”

 

Surprisingly, Sam did feel okay. The sharp pain had started to fade, and his breath came more easily. Probably he was going into shock.

 

“Sam?” Peter sounded shaky. “What…? Does this hurt?” He pressed his fingers against the left side of Sam's ribcage.

 

Sam sucked in a breath, expecting pain, and stopped when he realized that neither the pressure from Peter's hand or his own breathing actually hurt. “Peter?”

 

“Uh…” Peter leaned back on his heels and stared down at his hands. “I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought.”

 

Sam pushed himself upright, half expecting to go down again in agony, but he felt fine. “Where's the de--the other guy?” he asked. Sirens wailed in the distance, and crew from the hanger were creeping closer to check out the still-burning limo, and the charred and still-screaming bald man, but there was still no sign of the demon-possessed man who'd attacked them.

 

Sam scrambled to his feet. If he had to tell Dean he and Peter had been attacked by a demon without knowing why or where it had gone, he'd never forgive himself. After hesitating only a second, he pulled the anti-possession charm Bobby had given him from around his neck and pressed it into Peter's hand. “Hold onto this, understand?” he said. “Stay here!” He spotted a tire iron, probably thrown clear when the limo's gas tank went up. He shrugged off his hoodie, wrapped it around his hand to protect himself from the heat, and snatched up the weapon.

 

Then he took off running around the side of the hanger, away from the gathering crowd.  
Sure enough, the man who'd attacked him stood near the fence, dialing a cell phone. Sam ran all out, hoping to take advantage of the element of surprise. He made it to the man just as he was turning, and slammed a home-run hit directly into the demon's chest with the iron bar. The demon screamed in pain and stumbled back into the fence. Sam raised the bar for another blow.

 

The demon grinned, then, and threw back his head. The last thing Sam saw was black smoke rushing toward him.  
\--

“Who is this guy again?” Peter asked. He wasn't sure he liked the look of the somber man in the trenchcoat who had been standing over the scene, seemingly just staring, while the other cops had supervised loading their unconscious attackers into an ambulance. 

 

“Detective friend of Dean's,” Sam said shortly. Then he cocked his head, considering. “Or maybe friend is too strong a word. A guy he knows. Apparently they help each other out from time to time. Can't say I think much of his type.” 

 

As if he'd heard them, the cop turned and fixed Sam with a penetrating look before striding over. When he stood in front of them, he looked them both up and down efficiently, and turned to Peter. “You are Peter Petrelli?” 

 

“Yes,” Peter said slowly. 

 

“Peter, this is Detective Castiel,” Sam said with an overly grand gesture. “Detective, I don't know if you remember--.” 

 

“I know who you are,” Castiel said shortly. He seemed reluctant to tear his eyes away from Sam, but he glanced at Peter to ask, “Did you recognize the men who attacked you?” 

 

“No. I assumed they worked for my brother. If it hadn't been for Sam--.” 

 

“Did they say what they wanted? Did they ask for anything?” 

 

“Not that I remember.” 

 

“They wanted him to get in the car,” Sam spoke up. “They seemed to want him alive. I believe one of them had a weapon. That must have been what blew up the car.” 

 

Peter threw Sam a sharp look. 

 

“We did not recover a gun,” Castiel said. 

 

“Didn't say it wasn't a gun,” Sam smiled back sweetly, and Peter wondered if he always antagonized the authorities this much, or if he had some sort of a history with this detective. In any case, it was time to jump in. 

 

“Must have been a tazer,” Peter said quickly. “That would support your theory that they wanted me alive.” 

 

“Can you think of any reason why someone would want to abduct you?” Castiel asked. 

 

“I can think of a dozen,” Peter shrugged. “But my brother was attacked tonight, too. They've got to be related.” 

 

“Hm,” was all Castiel said to that. “Was either of you injured in the attack?” 

 

“No,” Peter jumped in before Sam could open his mouth. The last thing he needed was this detective hearing a story of some mysterious, miraculous powers being displayed and connect it somehow to Nathan or any of the other Petrellis. “Sam's pretty good with his fists. And with a tire iron, apparently.” 

 

Sam threw him an amused look, but Peter ignored it. 

 

“I'm going to put you in protective custody until we find your attackers,” Castiel announced with a hard glare at Sam. 

 

“Is my brother in protective custody?” 

 

Castiel's face almost showed an expression. “No. Mr. Petrelli refused police protection.” 

 

“Well then thank you, detective, but I think I'll follow my brother's example. Seems like Sam's all the bodyguard I need.” He turned quickly to Sam. “I mean, that is, if you want to stay. You don't have to--.” 

 

“Of course.” Sam clapped Peter's shoulder. “You don't have to ask.” 

 

“Mister Petrelli.” Castiel gave him a pained look. “I recommend that you come with us. Mister Winchester is hardly a suitable--.” 

 

“Is that all, detective?” Peter said coolly. He straightened to his full height and gave Castiel the bored, haughty glare he’d seen his everyone else in his family display with alarming regularity. “Mister _Winchester_ and I are leaving.”

 

“Wait--,” Castiel called, but Peter had already grabbed Sam’s wrist and begun pulling him away from the police. When they were clear of the crime scene tape, Peter chanced a glance back to see if Sam thought he was behaving suspiciously, and saw that Sam was grinning ear-to-ear, as if they’d just gotten away with something by the skin of their teeth.  
\-- 

 

“I could use a drink.” Sam pushed open the door to his apartment and ushered Peter inside. 

 

“You want something?” He strode off into the kitchen. 

 

Peter didn't reply; he couldn't decide whether he wanted alcohol to quiet the nervous buzz inside him or if he'd rather curl up with Sam and sleep until someone called with news. 

 

Sam solved the dilemma by bringing back two open beer bottles and handing one to Peter. 

“Apparently I need to start keeping hard stuff in the house.” He swigged down several gulps of his drink while Peter stood unmoving. 

 

“Hey.” Sam set his bottle aside and took hold of Peter's shoulders. “You're shaking.” 

 

Peter tried to produce a smile, but managed only half. “I'm fine,” he lied. “It's just adrenaline.” Using any new ability for the first time always left him feeling off base. He had no idea where that healing ability had come from, but if he hadn't had it, if that man had kept hurting Sam, if he hadn't been able to turn that other man's power against him… 

 

“Peter. Calm down.” The command in Sam's voice grounded Peter and helped him focus. “You did fine.” Sam slid a hand to the back of Peter's neck and pulled him in for a possessive kiss that left Peter calm and pliant. 

 

“Thanks,” Peter muttered. 

 

“It's okay.” Sam took Peter's beer away and set it on an overstuffed bookshelf. “I know what you need.” 

 

He kissed Peter again, this time walking him backwards until Peter's back thumped into the wall. Sam ran a hand down Peter's back to grab his ass hard as he pushed his hips forward, trapping Peter. 

 

“I know what you want,” Sam muttered, breath hot in Peter's ear. “Let me take control. Let me make you feel safe again.” 

 

Peter had never seen that hungry, predatory look in Sam's eyes. He bit his lip to keep back a moan. If Sam hadn't had him pinned to the wall, his knees might have buckled. He couldn't control what was happening to his family; he couldn't fix anything that had happened tonight, but if Sam would allow it, he knew he could do this right. He could please Sam. He could be good. If only Sam would let him. 

 

“Am I right?” Sam asked. He dug his fingers hard into Peter's ass. “Is this what you need?” 

 

“Please.” The plea tumbled out of Peter's mouth, and his skin heated at how desperate he sounded already. 

 

“That's right.” Sam ground against him, dragging another involuntary moan out of Peter when he realized how hard he'd gotten already. 

 

Sam leveled one arm against Peter's chest to keep him pinned. He pulled his hand away from Peter's ass to cup his crotch and rubbed Peter roughly through his tightening jeans, squeezing him almost to the point of pain. “What's this, Peter?” 

 

Peter's mouth gaped, but his brain seemed to have short-circuted. 

 

“We've been at this--what?--two minutes, and you're already so hard it hurts.” Sam leaned in and planted a close-mouthed kiss on Peter's lips. “You really are a slut for this.” 

 

Peter's cock jerked against Sam's hand, and he let his eyes fall shut as a deeper flush crept up his face. He hadn't realized how badly he needed this. Sam indulged Peter's requests for rough play from time to time, but never seemed to put his heart into it. Whatever barrier the night's events had broken had evidently let out a part of Sam capable of giving Peter exactly what he needed. Not a moment too soon: when he entered the apartment, Peter had felt lost, adrift, and now hope and hot, overwhelming arousal buoyed him. He hadn't felt so dominated, so free since--Well, for years. He opened his eyes again to find Sam watching him with a measuring look. 

 

“Knees,” Sam said, and stepped away. 

 

Peter melted to the floor, unsure if he'd have been able to stand on his own anyway. He looked up at Sam, who from this angle seemed ten feet tall, and felt a visceral, anticipatory shudder rip through him. 

 

“Get it out,” Sam ordered. 

 

Peter's hands went right to Sam's jeans. He unbuttoned and unzipped him efficiently, despite his trembling hands. He pulled down the boxers with the pants to free Sam's lengthy erection. He almost took it in his hand, then remembered his manners and looked to Sam for further instructions. 

 

“Good boy,” Sam said, sending a satisfied flutter through Peter's belly. “You can touch.” 

 

Peter wrapped his hand around the base. He pulled gently, watching the fascinating slide of skin as if he'd never seen Sam's cock before. He wasn't fully hard yet, so Peter stroked him slowly, twisting his hand when he got to the crown, twisting the other way on the backstroke. He looked up at Sam again, and asked softly, “Can I lick it?” 

 

Sam cocked his head to the side and gave a thin smile. “Can you lick what?” 

 

“Can I lick your cock, Sir?” Peter's mouth went dry. Sam. He'd meant to say Sam, but somehow Sir had come out instead. 

 

Sam's eyes hardened. 

 

Fear assaulted Peter: fear that Sam would say no. Suddenly having a cock in his mouth seemed vital, as if Peter would die if he couldn't have it. “Please. I'll make it good. You know I can make it good. Sam, please.” 

 

“Shh.” Sam held up a hand to stop the flow of words. He dragged a finger up Peter's neck and petted him on the cheek. “Okay, Peter. Tongue only.” 

 

Peter dove forward to lick first at the head of Sam's cock, then all the way down the shaft, desperate to taste every part of Sam. 

 

“That's it.” Sam petted Peter's hair, but made no move to direct him. “Look at you. So eager for it. Poor boy. You've been neglected too long. Don't worry. I'm here.” His hand fell away. “Stop now, Peter.” 

 

Peter reluctantly dragged his mouth away and looked up at Sam. 

 

“Up,” Sam ordered. “Take your clothes off.” 

 

Peter jumped to his feet and obeyed as quickly as possible, leaving his clothes in an untidy heap on the floor. Then he stood still, trying not to fidget, as Sam walked around behind him. 

 

“Your skin is so pale,” Sam said, sounding almost reverent. Fingers brushed over Peter's hip. “Soft, too.” 

 

Sam's large arms wrapped around Peter's waist, and Peter shivered in delight when he realized from the warm press of skin against his back that Sam was naked, too. Sam licked a line from Peter's shoulder blade up to his neck, and Peter bit back a groan as his neglected dick began to throb. 

 

“So responsive. It must be difficult to feel so much all the time and not know what to do about it.” Sam curled a hand loosely, teasingly, around Peter's cock. “It's okay now. I'll take good care of you.” He pulled Peter tight against him, pressing his slick erection to the crack of Peter's ass. “You just have to say yes. Can you do that?” 

 

“Yes. Yes sir,” Peter breathed. His face heated again at the word, which gave away his need too clearly. 

 

“Good,” Sam said. “You remember where I keep supplies?” 

 

Peter nodded. 

 

“Go get the lube.” Sam released him. Peter started forward, but Sam stopped him with a sharp, “No.” 

 

Peter turned around, puzzled. 

 

“Crawl.” 

 

Peter's muscles clenched all over as the command went through him like a little earthquake. He sank to his knees again. A strange, pleasant buzz that had nothing to do with alcohol fired his blood as he obeyed, crawling like an animal for his master. He retrieved the bottle of lube from the drawer of the bedside table and returned to the living room to find Sam sitting on the couch, idly stroking his full erection. The sight sent a shiver of lust through Peter. 

 

“There.” Sam pointed to the center of the room. Peter crawled to the spot, giving Sam an easy view of his ass. “On your back. Spread your legs and open yourself up.” 

 

Peter nodded his compliance. By now his arousal drown out all other thoughts; he felt profoundly grateful for Sam's succinct instructions. He slicked his fingers, laid back against the rug, and spread his legs. Reaching awkwardly down, he breached himself with one finger. 

 

“No,” Sam snapped. 

 

Peter froze, and Sam appeared, towering over him. “One? You can't possibly expect me to believe that a cockslut like you needs to start with one finger.” 

 

Peter's heart pounded in his chest and his dick throbbed along with it. Sam had never spoken to him like that, never called him names. Now, however, he seemed to notice how his words affected Peter. “You like being ordered around by the hired help? Debasing yourself like this for a man your brother wouldn't even allow into his office. You love getting down and dirty, Peter, I can see it all over your face. Are you listening to me, whore? I know you can take more than that. Start with three. Go on.” 

 

Peter braced his feet against the floor and canted his hips up. He worked three slick fingers into his tight ass, breathing through the uncomfortable stretch and trying to ignore the painful hardness of his cock. 

 

“Good boy.” Sam crouched next to him. He picked up the lube and coated his own fingers. “You love the feeling of being stretched open wide. That's why you love my thick cock.” Two of Sam's meaty fingers crowded at Peter's entrance. “You just can't get enough.” Sam pressed his fingers in alongside Peter's hand. 

 

Peter couldn't stop his hips from jerking away. Sam laid a hand on Peter's belly to still him.  
“I was thinking even I might not be enough for an insatiable slut like you. Maybe we should get you a dildo to suck. Fill up your mouth while I fill up your ass. Would you like that?” 

 

Sam shoved his fingers in further, and Peter could only groan helplessly. 

 

“Or maybe you'd prefer a real cock. What do you think, Peter? Should I call in some help?” Sam began screwing his fingers slowly in and out of Peter, sliding their fingers alongside each other. “I bet you'd love having two men at once, holding you down, shoving into you, getting you filthy. Well, filthier.” 

 

Peter bit back a sob and shoved down onto their twined fingers, hungry for more.  
“I know who you want. I've seen the way you look at Dean. You like the way he talks, swearing like a sailor. A little dumb, a little rough around the edges. Didn't have a gentle upbringing, like pretty little Peter. You want to suck his cock, I can tell. Isn't that true?” 

 

Peter shook his head no frantically, then yelped when Sam's free hand clamped around Peter's balls, squeezing him painfully hard. 

 

“Don't lie to me, Peter. I know how you think. Tell me the truth.” His grip didn't relent. “Peter.” 

 

“Yes,” Peter gasp. “Yes, I want to suck Dean's cock.” 

 

Sam released his grip, and Peter could breathe again. Sam pulled his fingers out, only to pour more lube on his hand and return with three large fingers. 

 

Peter tried to pull his own fingers out of his ass, but Sam's warning, “Peter,” made him stay. Sam worked his three fingers in beside them. Peter threw his head back against the rug and tried to keep breathing. Sam's voice burrowed into him as surely as his fingers, stripping away all control. 

 

“On second thought,” Sam drawled. “Maybe even two cocks aren't enough for you. You always need more, Peter. Maybe it has something to do with being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You're greedy. You feel entitled. But I know what you need even better than you do. You'd love to suck on one cock and have two cocks stretching your ass.” 

 

Peter squirmed, too full, but Sam shushed him by crooking his fingers to brush against the spot that spent sparks of electricity skittering along Peter's veins. “That's it. You'd writhe like this, stuffed to your limit… Maybe that would finally be enough for you, finally sate your compulsive need to whore yourself out to anyone who'll have you.” 

 

Peter whimpered his protest, but he couldn't think with Sam mercilessly fucking his fingers in and out of Peter's swollen hole. 

 

“I know who you want, filling you up next to me. Yeah, you want him bad. You are shameless, you know that? Never saw a cock you didn't want to ride. Bet you've fucked half the people who work for your brother. That Haitian? The one who's always standing around like a fucking mute? You'd fuck him in a second. The man with the horn-rimmed glasses? You'd bend over a desk for him before he even asked. God, you're so easy. But I know you think about him, fantasize about him when you jerk off. Maybe sometimes you imagine I'm him. Hell, maybe you're thinking about him right now.” 

 

Peter shook his head frantically, but couldn't form words. 

 

Sam stabbed his fingers against Peter's prostate, which sent him bucking. Sam dropped on top of him, pinning their erections between them. He worked his fingers inside Peter as Peter thrust up against him desperately. 

 

“I know who you want.” Sam leaned down to whisper in Peter's ear. “Nathan.” 

 

Peter's release ripped through him, dragging with it an anguished shout. He rode out his orgasm writhing on his own fingers tangled with Sam's. 

 

He was still panting for breath when Sam pulled their fingers out together and slid his cock into Peter's well-stretched ass. 

 

“Yeah,” Sam breathed. He drove into Peter with hard, brutal snaps of his hips. He braced himself against Peter's shoulders and laughed as he fucked him: laughter with a nasty, maniacal edge Peter didn't recognize. 

 

Peter wrapped his legs around Sam's back, needing comfort, needing contact. They slipped against their sweat-slick skin. Peter reached up to touch, but Sam grabbed his wrists and pinned them at his sides. 

 

Sam dropped his head down near Peter's ear again. “That's it,” he grunted. “God, if they could see you now, how much you love taking it like this. You like this, slut? Do you, Peter? Say it!” 

 

“Yes,” Peter sobbed. 

 

Sam thrust in once more, deep, and his fingers clamped tight on Peter's wrists as he spent himself inside Peter. 

 

He rolled to the side, and took Peter with him, keeping himself buried inside. “Good boy,” Sam said with a smirk. He brushed Peter's damp bangs out of his face. “I'm proud of you.” 

 

Peter pulled himself off Sam. He shivered, too raw physically and emotionally to figure out what he should do. The elation of his orgasm had already faded in the wake of a strange, bruised feeling that went deeper than his bones. 

 

“Hey, relax. You did good.” Sam, who had been so brutal just moments before, was all care now. He stood, led Peter into the bedroom, and pressed him into bed before retreating to the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and towel and cleaned them both up. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” he asked softly. 

 

“No,” Peter said. He felt sore, but he wasn't in pain, not really, aside from that nagging feeling of hurt, aching like a broken tooth. Sam could hardly be blamed for that, though; he'd only done what Peter had been practically begging him to do for months. 

 

Sam crawled into bed behind Peter and gathered him against his chest. “Sure you're okay?” he asked softly. 

 

Peter wasn't sure, but he nodded anyway. Silence settled over them. Peter drafted in a sleepy, sated haze as Sam trailed his fingers up and down Peter's naked side. 

 

“Peter?” Sam's gentle query nudged Peter away from sleep. 

 

“Hm?” 

 

“Today, when those guys attacked us… It was weird how that limo just blew up.” The mattress creaked as Sam shifted. “And when that guy hit me, I swear I heard a rib crack.” 

 

“Weird,” Peter said. He'd hoped Sam hadn't noticed. 

 

“How do you explain something like that?” 

 

Peter tried not to tense, but the mellow calm of a moment ago had evaporated, leaving him floundering. “I don't know,” he said lamely. 

 

“Peter?” Sam scooted even closer, leaving no buffer of space between their bodies. “How long have you had your powers?” 

 

“What?” Peter tried to force a laugh, but it sounded weak. “I don't know what you mean.” 

 

“It's okay.” Sam rested his forehead against the nape of Peter's neck. “I have an ability too.” 

 

“What do you mean?” Peter froze, barely breathing. 

 

“I have these visions. I can see things that are going to happen. At first I thought they were just dreams.” 

 

Peter turned over to face Sam. “But then they started coming true.” 

 

“Exactly.” Sam sighed, and Peter recognized the tortured look of a man hell bent on beating himself up. “I'm sorry I never told you. It's not something I've ever been able to talk about.” 

 

“I get it,” Peter said soothingly. “Does anyone know?” 

 

“No.” Sam vehemently shook his head. “Can't tell my family. My brother would think I was a freak. A witch or a demon or something.” 

 

“Come on, Sam. I don't think Dean could believe all that devil-spawn crap.” 

 

A wary, steel-cold look flashed in Sam's eyes. “You don't know what Dean's capable of.” 

 

“You're right, I don't,” Peter admitted. He looked down, thinking of the times people had said things about Nathan that he knew were false, and decided he'd be better off not making assumptions about Sam's brother. “I'm lucky, because my ability never made me feel like an outcast.” 

 

“What do you mean?” Sam's voice sounded casual enough, but his body angled eagerly toward Peter. 

 

“Okay, you can't tell anyone about this.” Peter heaved himself up to sitting. If there was anyone he could trust with this secret, it was Sam. He deserved to know. And besides, he'd brought up the question first. Peter couldn't bear to repay him with a lie. “Anyone. Not even Dean.” 

 

“I promise,” Sam said impatiently. 

 

“My family,” Peter said. If Nathan knew he was telling anyone this, he'd kill him. Somehow that thought only spurred Peter on. “We all have abilities, all of us. It's… Well let's just say it's part of what makes Petrelli International so successful.” 

 

“Wait, you're saying it's normal for you? That everyone in your family has some kind of super power?” 

 

“Kind of.” Peter searched for the right words. “These abilities are not evil, Sam. They're just a genetic trait, like brown eyes, or outrageous tallness.” He pushed Sam teasingly and got a distracted smile in return. “This is a good thing, Sam. You don't have to be alone anymore. I can help you! You said you had visions, right? My mom does, too.” 

 

“Mrs. Petrelli has visions,” Sam said skeptically. 

 

“She does,” Peter said. He decided this probably wasn't the time to explain how his own power worked. “She could help you figure out how to use your ability!” 

 

“Peter stop, stop.” Sam held up his hands. “I'm not sure I want anyone to know about this.” 

 

“Right, sorry.” Peter realized he was clutching Sam's arms, and let go reluctantly. “It's just… When I see a way I can help, I want to jump in and fix it. It's the house all over again, isn't it? I'm sorry.” He leaned over and kissed Sam, but he didn't respond. “What's wrong?” 

 

For a moment, Sam just looked at him, wide-eyed. Then his whole body spasmed and he cried out. His hands clutched at his head as he slammed back against the headboard. 

 

“Sam?” Peter grabbed hold of his arm, ready to steady him if he was having a seizure, but Sam just groaned. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his jaw clenched. “Sam?” 

 

“It's happening again,” Sam gritted out. 

 

“A vision,” Peter guessed. 

 

Sam nodded. “It's… Here. My apartment.” He took a deep breath, and some of the tension seemed to drain out of him. He opened his eyes. “It's over.” 

 

“What did you see?” 

 

“Something bad,” Sam said gravely. “We've got to go.”  
\--

 

Nathan took the stairs two at a time, barely keeping up with Dean. At the top of the stairs, Dean held up a hand to stop him and whispered, “When we get in there, I’m taking the lead. I know what we’re dealing with. If I say run, you run.”

 

“Fine,” Nathan said tightly. He had no intention of hanging back if his brother was in danger, but Dean had certainly proved many times over tonight that he’d known what he was talking about. Nathan understood as much as he needed to about special abilities, but something else had been at work here tonight. Nathan had to give Dean credit for recognizing and stopping the strange, yellow-eyed man who’d come to the hospital to finish the job he’d started when he ran Nathan off the road. Until Nathan could find someone to give him a solid explanation of exactly what in hell was going on, he’d have to rely on Dean’s evident expertise. 

 

Dean prowled down the hallway and listened at the third door, presumably Sam’s apartment. He drew a key from his pocket and carefully slid it into the lock. He looked up and Nathan, and nodded once. Nathan nodded back.

 

Dean held up three fingers, two, one, then turned the lock and rammed his shoulder into the door. “Sam!” he yelled as he rushed into the apartment. 

 

Nathan followed a step behind. Inside the cramped, neat living room, the first thing Nathan saw was Peter. He stood by a low couch, pulling a shirt over his head. Behind him loomed Sam Winchester, face contorted in an enraged grimace, eyes fixed on Dean, who had pulled his gun and pointed it at his brother. 

 

“Peter!” Nathan yelled. 

 

“Get away from him, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled. 

 

“Careful, Dean. You shouldn’t talk about Mary like that,” Sam shot back. 

 

“Peter,” Nathan called. “Get over here.”

 

Peter looked between Sam, Dean, and Nathan before throwing out his arms and jumping in front of Dean’s gun. “Leave him alone!”

 

Dean took one hand off his gun to snatch Peter’s wrist and pull, sending him stumbling toward Nathan before leveling his gun again. 

 

Nathan grabbed his wayward brother and held him tight. 

 

“You’re not gonna shoot me, Dean-o,” Sam laughed.

 

“Don’t be too sure,” Dean snarled. But he lowered the gun and instead lunged at Sam, sending him stumbling backwards through a doorway that looked like it led to a den or office.

 

“Let me go,” Peter demanded, and fought wildly against Nathan’s grip. 

 

Nathan counted himself lucky that Peter’s tenuous control over his powers evaporated completely when he was angry, so in his current state of agitation he wasn’t able to wield any of the arsenal of powers that could have easily made Nathan yield. “Stop,” Nathan said, tightening his grip on Peter. “We’re here to help you. That isn’t Sam.”

 

“You’re wrong. Nathan, he has powers; he’s like us. Let me go! Dean’s going to kill him!”

 

“It’s not _him_ ,” Nathan said as he struggled to drag his brother further away from the doorway where the sounds of fighting drifted through. “There’s some sort of mind control happening. Think, Pete. Has he been acting strangely tonight?”

 

Peter stopped struggling and turned a ghastly shade of white. For the first time, Nathan wondered why his brother had been half-clothed when they walked in. 

 

A crash sounded from the adjoining room, followed by Sam’s shouted, “No!”

 

Peter squirmed out of Nathan’s grip and ran. Nathan cursed and flew after him. Luckily Dean stood blocking the doorway, so Peter hadn’t made it past. 

 

“That’s what you get for coming into a hunter’s home, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled. 

 

Nathan followed Dean’s eyes up to see an elaborate design painted in a circle on the ceiling. Below it, Sam threw himself at Dean and seemed to hit an invisible barrier. His eyes looked opaque, solid black, and he was snarling like an animal. Nathan could hardly believe this was the reserved, bookish young man he’d seen a few times with Dean. He’d let his baby brother be alone with this thing. “What the hell’s wrong with him?” Nathan asked.

 

Peter had frozen at the sign of Sam fighting and raging. Nathan’s question seemed to shake him out of his shock. He grabbed Dean’s shirt and yelled, “Stop it! Whatever you’re doing to him, just stop!”

 

Dean looked to Nathan, then back at Peter, and said gruffly, “I’m trying to help him.”

 

“Peter,” Sam called. He’d stopped struggling, and the total blackness had cleared from his eyes. “I’m sorry! What did I do?”

 

“Nathan!” Peter grabbed onto the front of Nathan’s shirt and gave him a look of angry determination. “Nathan, he didn’t do anything. What the hell is going on?”

 

Dean strode to the room’s small desk, careful to skirt the edge of the circle inscribed on the ceiling. “Stay out of it, Peter.” He pawed through a stack of books until he found the one he was looking for and flipped it open.

 

“Dean, I can’t believe you’d side with him.” Sam jerked his head at Nathan. “Over your own brother. What, are you jealous?”

 

“Shut up,” Dean said through gritted teeth. 

 

“Sam--.” Peter started to go to him, but Nathan caught him and held him back. “Nathan, this is ridiculous,” he protested. “Let him go.”

 

Dean evidently found what he was looking for in the book, because he began reading aloud. It sounded like Latin, but Nathan could only recognize a few words: unclean spirit, our Lord Jesus Christ. 

 

Nathan had only a minute to wonder what exactly Dean was up to before Peter started struggling again. 

 

From inside the circle, Sam began pleading. “Don’t do this! Peter, please. You said you understood. You said you’d help me. Peter, please!” Sam reached toward Peter, and Nathan had to strain to hold Peter back. “They’re doing this because I’m different. They don’t understand. Don’t let them hurt me, please Peter!”

 

“Don’t listen to him,” Dean yelled. “Demons lie. They read your mind and they try to get inside your head. Don’t let him.”

 

“Demon? What the hell’s wrong with you?” Peter struggled harder. “For God’s sake, he’s not evil, you don’t understand!”

 

Dean snatched up a flask marked with a crucifix from the desk, ripped off the top, and splashed the contents at Sam. The water hissed against his skin, Sam screamed like a wounded animal and his eyes flashed back. 

 

Dean shot the Petrellis a glance that seemed almost sympathetic. “That look like not evil to you?”

 

Nathan and Peter both stared as Dean went back to reading. 

 

Sam turned back to Peter, and his please became louder, more desperate. “This doesn’t change anything,” Sam called. “You think because your powers come from some gene, you’re different from me? You’re a freak, Peter. You’re an abomination. You’re so weak, you need a real man to hold you down and show you your place. You can’t do anything without _their_ approval. You’re weak, Peter. Useless. You’re nothing but a tool for whoever’s strong enough to use you.”

 

“Shut up,” Nathan snapped. He looked over at Dean, who just kept reading aloud, faster now. 

 

“Tell them, Peter,” Sam went on. “Tell them how you wanted Sam to hurt you. How you begged him to abuse you. But he was too damn soft, until I showed him how it was done. And you loved it. Tell them, Peter. Who’s the freak?”

 

Dean raised his voice, but Sam only spoke louder to drown out the chanting. “Nathan, you can’t pretend you’re better than us. What you can do doesn’t make you a god or an angel or anything other than a monster. If you won’t join us on your own, we’ll find a way to break you. We know all sorts of ways to break people, don’t we, Peter?”

 

This time Peter had to hold back his brother as he lunged for Sam. 

 

“Come on, Petrelli,” Sam taunted. “Come take what you deserve.”

 

Dean shouted over him, “Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri!” 

 

Sam’s head snapped back. Black smoke poured out of his mouth, rising in a swirling maelstrom to spread against the ceiling before whirling out the window. Sam slumped to the floor. 

 

Dean was beside him in an instant. Nathan stayed where he was, gripping Peter tight. He sincerely hoped someone was about to explain what just happened.  
\--

 

Dean rolled Sam onto his back and looked for injuries. If he’d been hurt, if the demon had been all that was keeping him upright…

 

Sam coughed and tried to sit up. Dean pushed him back down. 

 

“Dean? Dean!” His eyes darted to the doorway, where both Petrellis stood watching warily. “Oh god, Peter. Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Peter said weakly.

 

Dean shook him to get his attention back. “Sam, what the hell happened?”

 

“We were attacked,” Sam said. “I remember chasing that demon… Then I wasn’t in control any more. How did you know to come looking?”

 

“Castiel called. Said a few things that tipped me off. Said you’d been attacked, the place smelled like sulpher, and that you were acting weird.”

 

“Thanks for coming.” Sam pushed himself up, wincing at aches that seemed to reach every part of him.

 

“How can you be sure he’s okay?” Nathan demanded.

 

“Nice thing about exorcisms,” Dean said. “It’s pretty obvious when they work. Sam, did the demon say anything about why he was here?”

 

“No… No clues.”

 

“We had some trouble at the hospital earlier. Yellow eyes.” 

 

“Is everyone okay?” Sam asked quietly, as if he was afraid to talk about it in front of the Petrellis.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Turns out Nathan—I mean, Mr. Petrelli’s pretty handy in a fight.”

 

“I’ll take Peter home now,” Nathan said. “Let’s go, Pete.”

 

“I don’t need an escort. I’m fine,” Peter said. He shrugged off Nathan’s grip. 

 

“Let’s go.” Nathan went to the apartment door. 

 

Peter hesitated, his eyes fixed on Sam. “Sam?”

 

Sam kept his eyes fixed on the ground, face creased with a miserable look of guilt.

 

“I’ll take care of him,” Dean said softly. “Go.”

 

Peter nodded reluctantly and allowed his brother to lead him out of the apartment.  
\--

 

**Six months later**

 

“Dean, I’m taking the Impala!”

 

“No,” Dean called from the kitchenette.

 

“Dean, come on. I need it today.”

 

“You’ve played that card too often recently. All you’ve done all summer is borrow my car.” Dean walked in holding a plate piled high with a sandwich. “So uno, dude. No more cards.”

 

“Uno means you have one more card,” Sam muttered.

 

“Whatever. I hate that game.” Dean threw himself down in a chair next to the room’s only table and set his sandwich in front of him. “You’re not taking my car. I have worked too hard this week standing between damnation and Petrelli International, I think those hell bitches are finally getting the point, and I deserve to drive to a strip club and get one hell of a lap dance.” He punctuated his point by taking an enormous bite of his sandwich.

 

“It’s important.” Sam stayed by the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’ve got... I’ve got a date with Peter.”

 

“Peter Petrelli?” Dean asked through a mouthful of bread.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Sammy…” Dean swallowed hard and prepared to explain to his brother-- _again_ \--why this was a bad idea.

 

“Before you freak out, just let me say something.” Sam crossed the room in three long strides and took the seat across from Dean. “Peter and I are fine. I don’t know what hang-ups you and Nathan have about what happened, but Peter and I are over it. We didn’t let is poison us, because we don’t just shut up and let emotional wounds fester like you do.”

 

“Thanks a lot,” Dean muttered. He picked at his sandwich, but he couldn’t come up with an argument against what Sam was saying.

 

“We’re fine, Dean. Hell, I think in some ways that demon did us a favor.”

 

“Yeah. Real nice hell-spawn, that one.”

 

Sam ignored him. “I have something special planned for today, and I would like to borrow the car. Please.”

 

“Special?” Now Dean narrowed his eyes. “You are not fucking in the Impala!”

 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Sam sounded scandalized. 

 

“So what are you planning that couldn’t happen in a taxi?”

 

“We’re going out of town.” It was Sam’s turn to fidget. “To Burnholt.”

 

“What’s in--?” Dean started to ask, before he came up with the answer on his own. “Dad’s cabin?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Sam, that place is a dump. Nobody’s been in there since…” Dean shook his head. He didn’t like to dwell on memories of the bad things that had happened to them over the years. “Well, you know.”

 

“Actually…” Sam kept staring at the surface of the table, and Dean started putting the clues together for himself.

 

“You’ve been fixing it up,” he concluded.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That’s where you’ve been taking my car all summer.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dean pushed his chair back angrily and got up from the table so he wouldn’t have to sit there watching Sam look guilty. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”

 

“Because I didn’t want to argue, Dean.”

 

“So you lied to me? Snuck around behind my back?”

 

“Dean. Look.” Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit a few buttons before passing it over. “I took a few pictures.”

 

Dean took the phone and said nothing for a few moments as he flipped through the photos. He’d almost forgotten the stonework around the fireplace, and the way the afternoon sunshine sparkled on the lake. “The new roof looks good,” he said at last.

 

“I nearly drove a roofing nail through my foot doing that.” Sam came to stand next to him.

 

“Paid off, I guess.” He handed the phone back to Sam.

 

“You done being pissed?” 

 

“Yeah.” He walked back to the table and slumped into his chair.

 

“I’m taking the Impala.”

 

“Fine.” Dean thought of the road to the cabin, the long drive through nowhere-in-particular, and imagined his brother making the trip alone all summer. “Sam?”

 

“Yeah?” He hoisted his duffel bag.

 

“You did all this for Peter?”

 

“Well, not all for him. But mostly, yes.” Sam paused with his hand on the door. “He’s worth it, Dean.”

 

“Okay.” Dean nodded curtly and picked up his sandwich. “He’d better put out, is all I’m saying.”

 

“Goodbye, Dean.”

 

“I want details,” Dean called after him.

 

“Goodbye, Dean.”

 

“And not in the car!”

 

“Goodbye!”  
\-- 

 

Peter knocked and the door of Nathan’s office and received an immediate, “Come in.”

 

Nathan sat behind his desk, scribbling intently all over some important-looking document. He didn’t look up. 

 

“Ma said you might be here.” Peter didn’t wait for an invitation, but wandered in and made himself at home on one of the sofas. “I told her it was a Saturday morning, and surely you’d be at the hospital with Heidi for her physio.”

 

“Damn.” Nathan dropped his pen and looked up. “That’s today?”

 

“And every Saturday,” Peter said mildly. 

 

Nathan shook his head. “Elle was supposed to put all that on my schedule. I’ll have to talk to her about it.” He picked up his pen and went back to scribbling.

 

“I didn’t come here for that, anyway,” Peter said. “I wanted to tell you something.”

 

“Is it about how you’re seeing Sam Winchester again?”

 

“You knew about that?” Peter winced. 

 

Nathan didn’t even pause in his work. “I have people whose job it is to keep an eye on my assets.”

 

“And I’m one of your assets?”

 

Nathan glanced up to shook him an annoyed look. “Of course, Peter.”

 

Perhaps that shouldn’t have made Peter feel good, but it did. “So you don’t mind my seeing Sam.”

 

“Fuck whoever you want, Peter. Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with the company. Besides, if Dean is right about those things—,” Nathan never could bring himself to say demons, “Then it couldn’t hurt for you to have the extra protection.”

 

“You’re an ass, Nathan.” Peter jumped off the sofa and went for the door. 

 

“Wait.” Nathan flew after him and caught his arm. “Wait.” He took a breath and seemed to be bracing himself to give up a hard-fought concession. “I don’t like what Sam did, but if you say it wasn’t his fault, I believe you. I trust you, Pete. And I know he can give you something you need…” Peter heard the precarious edge in Nathan’s voice, the unspoken, _something I can’t give you_. “And I’d rather you get that from someone who understands what you are.”

 

“Our abilities, you mean.” 

 

“No. I mean you. You’re special, Pete. Never forget it.” Nathan straightened and pulled away. “And you’re a Petrelli. You deserve to have whatever you want.”

 

“Thanks, Nathan.” Peter squeezed Nathan’s arm, and was about to say something more when his phone buzzed. He plucked it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. “That’s him now, actually.”

 

“Fine.” Nathan was already walking back to his desk. “Have fun. Don’t be seen in public with him.”

 

“Whatever.” Peter rolled his eyes. He slipped out of Nathan’s office, feeling lighter than he had in months, and answered the phone. “Sam? What’s the plan?”  
\--

 

The rumble of the Impala filled the easy silence between them. Every time Sam glanced over from the driver’s seat, he couldn’t help but grin at the wide-eyed contentment on Peter’s face as he stared out at the landscape rushing by. Sam turned onto the dirt road that led through to the edge of the lake, then stopped the car. “Close your eyes.”

 

Peter looked skeptical for a moment, but at Sam’s, “please,” he gamely covered his eyes with his hands. 

 

The Impala growled and bucked over the rough road. “Please tell me you’re not taking me into the woods to kill me,” Peter said. “I spent long enough defending you to Nathan that it’d be embarrassing to be proved wrong.”

 

“Yeah, I had to defend you to Dean, too.” 

 

Peter peeked out from behind his fingers to share a knowing smile, and just like that another bond connected them. 

 

Sam pulled the Impala onto the grass and killed the engine. “We’re here. You can look.”

 

Peter took his hands away from his eyes and stared out the windshield at the little wooden cabin on the lake.

 

For several seconds he just looked, saying nothing. A flock of geese took off from the water and flew off toward the south, honking. They seemed to give Peter back his speech. “This is yours?” he asked. 

 

“It was my dad’s.” He climbed out of the car, and Peter did likewise. “It’s mine and Dean’s now. I’ve been fixing it up.”

 

“Wow… This is… wow.” Peter walked around to the front of the Impala, but seemed shy to approach any closer. Sam went to him.

 

“Listen, I know you used to have a place like this.” He drew a single key on a ring out of his pocket and held it out to Peter. “I want you to be able to come here whenever you want. If you need a place to get away, or… Just if you want to.”

 

“Sam, I…” Peter looked down at the key.

 

“Is this weird?” Sam shifted his weight nervously as a wave of doubt overcame him. “I didn’t want it to seem like…”

 

“No.” Peter closed his hands over Sam’s. “No, Sam, it’s great.” He took the key, but kept one of his hands twined with Sam’s. “I just had no idea.”

 

“It’s demon-proof, too.” Sam led Peter toward the front door. “The doorjamb and the windows have a salt line built into them. Devil’s traps painted everywhere--.”

 

“Sam.” Peter shut him up with a kiss that made Sam forget where he was for a moment. “It’s great. Thank you.” He held up his key and started for the door. “Is there a fireplace?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam said, following.

 

“Bearskin rug?” Peter leaned back against the front door and stretched languidly.

 

“Well, _a_ rug.”

 

“Want to break it in?”

 

“Yes I do.”

 

Peter turned the key in the lock and beckoned Sam inside.


End file.
